Draco Malfoy and the LionHeart
by AManDuhhhhh
Summary: And seeing the clear and undisguised wonder shining like a candle in the dark from the little girl's eyes, Tom, who was a pureblood himself, looked upon the alley which had never been anything extraordinary to him in his entire life, and he thought it was beautiful, too.
1. Prelude

This story begins, as many others do, with a "Once upon a time." Whether the "happily ever after" follows, remains, as yet to be seen…

Once upon a time there was a young woman named Lolita Brown. She lived just outside the small village of Lacock in Wiltshire; a picturesque little inhabitance that time seemed to have almost forgotten. Every week, an eighteen year old, brown haired, blue eyed Lolita would ride her bike into town with the excuse of visiting the modest local library, where she devoured books with rapidity and yearning unparalleled by any other in the close-knit community.

The townspeople called her scholarly. They believed her head was in the clouds. She simply nodded her head politely at their compliments and their criticisms. After all, this was a small town, and if Mrs. Humphrey thought she should put down her books and try to find herself a husband like a good girl, she was entitled her opinion. And if Mr. and Mrs. Dodge, the owners of a small antique store, thought Mrs. Humphrey should stuff it, well, they were entitled to their opinion as well.

What no one, apart from perhaps his mother, the widowed Mrs. Williamson saw, was the ulterior motive Lolita had long since had in her weekly two-mile excursions to town – her son, Jamie.

Like clockwork, Lolita tied her bike up in front of their family owned bakery, walked down the rode to the library with her arms full of books, and reemerged two to five hours later with a brand new pile of treasures, waiting to be read.

Mrs. Williamson watched from the window of her husband's life's blood, as the girl braved the heat, the cold, the snow, and the sun for the sake of her precious books. And on the days when her dear Jamie wasn't slaving away in the back, learning to manage the business that would one day be his, she watched the dopey smile smear itself across his face. She watched her beautiful blonde haired, blue-eyed son trip over himself as he sprinted out the door, following the lovely Lolita, simply for the honor of carrying her many books. And if Lolita's cheeks grew pink, and her smile wider at the attentions of her son, Mrs. Williamson had the decency to avert her eyes and allow the young lovers their privacy.

James Williamson was twenty years old on the cold November day he finally plucked up the courage to ask the fair Lolita out on a proper date—though courage may hardly be the proper word for it. It wouldn't be until after their wedding that his friends, and in fact, the majority of the townspeople would allow him to forget the way he stuttered his way through, and eventually barked out his admiration for her. In the years to come, he would simply ruffle Lolita's hair, and say, "It was my charm that won her over in the end."

They were married young, at the ages of twenty-one and nineteen, after he botched the proposal by accidentally dropping the ring to the ground on her nineteenth birthday, in clear view of all their friends and family.

He, of course, turned well and truly scarlet. Lolita simply pursed her lips to keep her smile contained before quirking her head and in her most studious, inquisitive voice said, "I don't suppose you had something you wanted to ask me, did you Jamie?"

The first two years of their marriage were filled predominately with happiness, interspersed with the occasion quarrel, and in a devastating blow, the sudden death of James's mother came only two weeks before the couple's second year anniversary—only a fortnight before they discovered Lolita had been pregnant, but had miscarried due to the stress Mrs. Williamson's death had brought the family.

The couple soldiered on through their losses, and came out loving one another all the more. By the time they were in their early thirties they had had three more miscarriages, and had lost both of Lolita's parents, one to cancer and the other to heartache. Having given up the idea of ever having children of their own, they instead poured all of their love into their bakery, and the village children who adored both the middle-aged couple, and the free biscuits.

But then, miracle of miracles, they were gifted with one last chance, when at the age of thirty-seven, Lolita fell once more pregnant. She was put on bed rest due to her age and her past complications during childbirth, and seven months later on a humid July night, a daughter was born, and christened Alesea, after James mother. But everyone would grow to call her by her middle name, which much better reflected her vibrant spirit: Leola.

Then, on an early April night, Provenance interceded in the small family's life one more time. After handing the Williamson's the miraculous gift of a wonderful and healthy child, fate seemed to decide their luck had run out. They were mere blocks away from home when it began to rain. They had left their two year old daughter with the neighbor while they'd ventured out for groceries. It was entirely too sudden. One moment their car was on the road, the next it was hydroplaning, out of control, and the next it was pinned between two trees, and its occupants were both dead.

The small town of Lacock still often remembers the Williamson's, and wonders what became of their only child, whom with no family to speak of was put into the system, and presumably, given to a foster family.

And that is where our story truly begins…


	2. Many Happy Returns

Alesea Leola Williamson woke up with a jolt from her nightmare. She was sticky from sweat and her sheets clung uncomfortably to her limbs, even as she tried to untangle herself from them. She could hear dull crashes and hurtful slurs coming from the room underneath her and knew her foster brothers and sisters were already awake, and her foster parents were most likely nursing headaches from the heavy drinking they had done the night before.

She had once innocently asked her previous foster parents why they didn't just stop drinking if it made them feel sick. She would never ask that question again.

Moving to the window as she adjusted her hand-me-down night shirt—at one point her foster father's, but now, a comfortably worn in, thin cotton shirt, proudly supporting Manchester United and falling mid-calf—Leola realized very quickly what day it was. 28 July 1991, her eleventh birthday.

Most children would feel cause for celebration. Leola supposed she had some cause to celebrate. After all, she'd never been with one family this long. And while they yelled frequently and drank too much, her current foster father seemed to hold an honest affection for her, and her foster mother, if not loving, at least left her alone apart from the occasional drunken screeching.

More importantly, her little brothers and little sister looked up to her as though she were a real life princess, sworn to protect them from any and all hardship. It was this that she reminded herself as she padded quietly in her bare feet, down the dusty hardwood stairs of her dilapidated foster home. It was this that she reminded herself when her mother told her it was "about bloody time you woke up." It was this she reminded herself of as she poured cereal for her siblings, and it was this she thanked the universe for when one by one her two brothers and her sister got up from the table, hugged her firmly about the waist, thanking her for breakfast and wishing her a happy birthday.

After getting dressed in a pair of old thrift store shorts and a baggy vest which once belonged to her foster mum, Leola rounded up her little siblings and quickly led them out of the house and into the muggy afternoon air.

If the inside of Leola's home was dank, then the outside was positively decrepit. In fact, the entire neighborhood seemed to be falling apart, from the closed down church in the distance, to the tobacco and liquor store at the corner of the block. But Leola had grown used to these familiar sights over her past two years here, and so paid them little attention as she led her siblings like ducklings toward a bar, just barely visible from her front stoop. But first, she took a quick peek in the mailbox nailed into the brick beside her front door, trying not to be too disappointed when there was no letter with her name on it.

Already at just half past ten in the morning and the sun was bearing down on them as they trudged and tripped across the cracked pavement of the sidewalk, where weeds jutted their way blindly toward the sky, and across the cement, half decimated with potholes from old road work and no funding to repave.

The row of children reached the bar just as the owner stepped outside, holding the door open for a woman dressed in an ankle length black silk bathrobe-like dress. She held her nose in the air as if in a permanent state of distaste and curled her lip up at the children before her, as if just looking at children would make her sticky.

"Why the apparition point must be in _muggle_ London I will never understand." She criticized, as the barman, Tom, squirmed in discomfort.

"Quite." Was all the man said, before bidding her a good day and watching as she walked into the alley. A _POP!_ could be heard before she was presumably gone.

The man, Tom, then refocused his attention to the new arrivals, one in particular. "Leola! Come on and give us a hug then, birthday girl!" He said with a smile which grew larger upon seeing her usually somber face break out in happiness. This child, Tom knew, had far too little happiness in life.

He still recalled the first day he'd seen the girl, two years ago. She had just been put in a new foster home, after what he would eventually find out was a long list of families, each one sending her back after incidents which were unexplainable.

She had been walking in circles around the neighborhood for at least two hours, and couldn't have been more than seven or eight years old, watching the adults with big, inquisitive blue eyes as they passed her by. Eventually, she'd grown tired and sat down on the curb not ten feet away from the entrance to his bar. She stayed there for an hour before it had begun to grow dark and she was forced to return to the new place she would call home.

She returned to the curb the next day, and the next.

Tom had watched her growing fascination of all the oddly dressed people which frequented his establishment, coming and going at all hours. He watched her as curiously as she watched the strangers come and go. Sometimes she would try to follow them, looking for the entrance to the mysterious old building—but always in vain.

He could see the question written on her face: "Where did all the people go?"

It wasn't until months after her arrival into the neighborhood that he bore witness to a bout of accidental magic and took pity on the magical girl alone in the muggle world.

He had watched her run from her home in tears, a woman yelling shrill expletives at her as she sprinted toward what he had come to think of as her curb. Instead of sitting down however, she paced back and forth, huffing and angry, before finally she stopped and stomped one foot against the stone in indignation. The sidewalk shattered like a sugar cube under foot. Not even shards of stone were left; she had reduced the walkway under her shoe to fine sand. Tom easily read the surprise, panic, and also the wonder on her face as she observed what she had done.

So he did what he believed any upstanding citizen should do. He opened up the door to the Leaky Cauldron and invited the young witch inside.

Two years later and here Leola ran into Tom's arms, her muggle foster siblings behind her, all completely at ease near the magical bar owner and his magical pub. He had been hesitant at first, to allow the muggles to enter, but where Leola went, her siblings would follow, and he saw no real harm in allowing them to sit at the counter for a decent meal a or two, or a safe place to color or read.

"Happy birthday, my girl," Tom said again, as he lead the four children into his pub and straight to their usual seats at the bar top. The fireplace flashed green as they passed by, and a wizard stepped out of the flames, but none of the children so much as blinked, so used to the sight of the floo by now. "I believe this is yours."

She opened the present very slowly, unlike most children who cannot wait to get to the gift. She seemed to be savoring the experience of being gifted something at all. As if such a moment was very precious, indeed. Opening the box, she inhaled the smell of leather and looked up at the bar owner, whom she secretly thought of as her true father (though she would never tell him such a thing) with a questioning glance.

"Dragon hide gloves," the man informed her, even as her younger brother Robert ripped them out of her hands and tried them on himself. "Charmed to keep your hands dry in the rain and warm in the winter. You'll need them when you try out for Quiddich next year."

She smiled sadly and thanked him, but told him he had been wrong about her. Her letter had not come.

"Oh, did I forget to tell you then?" He asked rhetorically, the ghost of a teasing smile on his face. "A letter arrived here for you just today." Tom told her, excited on her behalf. "Delivered by owl, wonder what it could be?" He fought a smile when he saw her face light up and her shoulders relax. Clearly, she'd truly believed she hadn't been magic enough.

Tom held out the envelope for Leola to take. She held it in her open palms and looked on as if it were divine. After a moment, she read aloud for the benefit of her brothers and sister:

Miss A. L. Williamson

O'Grady Foster Home

London, England

Then, to his surprise, instead of the overwhelming joy which Tom had anticipated from Leola, he was met with tears. "I can't go." She whispered to him as the oldest of her brothers, Samuel, tore open the letter and began to read it aloud with all the pride a nine year old can muster. "I can't leave them here. What do I do, Tom?"

"Don't be silly, Leola. Of course you'll go to Hogwarts. And you'll learn how to fly, and brew potions, and casts charms. They'll be okay. You'll have the rest of this summer with them. And you'll be home for winter break."

Leola looked up at Tom with teary eyes. She was silent for a moment, contemplating, before she nodded her head. In an incredulous voice, as if she simply couldn't believe that good things still happened to good people, she told him, "Tom, I'm going to Hogwarts."


	3. Diagon Alley

The next few weeks that followed went much the same as usual. Leola woke up before her mum and dad, made a simple breakfast for her family (usually eggs and toast, or an assortment of cereal) and then her and her siblings spent the day in the heat, playing with the other neighborhood children. They never ate lunch during the summers, except on the rare occasion that they were invited to a friend's home. At dinner, they gathered around a big wooden table at the Leaky Cauldron with Tom, and they ate as a family, before going back home and crawling into their beds for the night.

It was only a week before September 1st when Tom finally managed to get away from his beloved bar for the afternoon to take the young girl shopping. Her foster parents had been entirely indifferent to the fact that one of their charges was a witch; they neither condemned her for her differences nor celebrated her on her uniqueness. For this, she found herself grateful.

But though they accepted her for whom she was, it was clear they themselves would not go out of their way to help her take her first steps into her new world, and so, like the surrogate father he had become, Tom stepped up and found the time to accompany her Diagon Alley, his nephew Andrew standing in for him at the pub until he got back.

While Robert, Samuel, and Leola's sister Katie were running about the neighborhood playing with friends, Tom was escorting Leola into the alley behind his pub, and showing her, for the very first time in her life, her first glimpse of magical Britain.

"It's beautiful," the small child whispered in a slightly choked voice as she looked upon the street where cauldrons of all sizes sat glistening under the sun, stirring themselves—smoke and fragrance wafting up from out of them as the potions inside simmered. She looked upon the perfectly waxed marble of Gringott's Bank and thought it beautiful; she even looked through the window of the apothecary, where hanging upside down on display were, among other things, herbs such as rosemary and moonflower, and also rat tails, on sale.

And seeing the clear and undisguised wonder shining like a candle in the dark from the little girl's eyes, Tom, who was a pureblood himself, looked upon the alley which had never been anything extraordinary to him in his entire life, and he thought it was beautiful, too.

"Where shall we go first, Tom?" Leola asked, once she had recovered.

"Well, let's see this list?" he asked, and she pulled it out of her pocket and handed it to him. It was creased heavily and already worn, as though it had been folded and unfolded dozens, maybe hundreds of times in its existence. Pretending he hadn't noticed the letters wear, he unfolded it carefully and proceeded to read from the list: "'First-year students will require: three sets of plain work robes, one pointed hat for day wear, one pair of protective gloves, and one winter cloak.' I reckon we ought to head to Gringott's first, Leola. I have the key sent by Headmaster Dumbledore to access your Hogwarts fund."

"My fund?"

"Gifted by the school for those with magical abilities who otherwise couldn't afford the private education."

"So, like… a scholarship?"

"What's a scholarship?" Tom asked, scratching his bald head as they walked toward the beautiful structure that was Gringott's.

"Umm, muggle thing." Leola muttered, embarrassed. She was happy when Tom changed the conversation to more light-hearted topics.

After leaving Gringott's, the pair went to a second-hand robe shop, where they found everything Leola needed quite easily, although most of her purchases were slightly too large for her. Tom offered to transfigure them later to be her size, until she could grow into them properly.

Once they left there, they preceded to the apothecary, then on to the next shop for quills, ink, and parchment, Tom even took her to the familiar store, and the Quiddich shop, though she could afford nothing from either place. She enjoyed window shopping with him immensely. From there they journeyed into the book store Flourish and Blotts, which was packed with other Hogwarts students and their families shopping desperately for last minute school things.

Tom told Leola to have a wander while he made his way through the store with the list of books the girl would need for her first year. When he found her, twenty minutes later, she had found herself a seat on a window seal near an open window, where a light breeze was caressing her long brown hair as it blew its way into the shop, airing the stuffy room out. Her face was pressed to the book in front of her as though she were trying to consume it with all of her senses, as if just seeing the words were not enough. He had often seen her reading with a similar vivacity in the corner of his pub by the fire on cold winter nights, and rainy spring evenings.

He found her to be reading a used copy of "Hogwarts, A History." Underneath that book, lay a very large used book titled "History of Wizarding Britain: 500 B.C. – 1945 A.D." He added both of them to the pile of books under his arm and led her to the register at the front of the shop. When she began worrying out loud at the cost of the extra books, Tom had to bend down to her eye level to assure her that Hogwarts would not begrudge her a few extra sickles to educate herself.

Finally, they stopped outside of a shop with a sign boasting itself as Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. Leola skipped inside with a megawatt smile blossoming on her face and the appearance of the dusty, disorganized shelves within the poorly lit shop did nothing to diminish her happiness. They had saved the best for last. And now, finally, this was the moment that Leola would truly become a witch. Surely, once a wand had chosen her, they couldn't take back her acceptance letter. Once she had a wand, she would belong here among the cloak-wearing pedestrians, the children on their toy brooms, flying two feet off the ground at their mother's sides, the customers waiting in line down the street for a bag of dragon roasted chestnuts.

"Good morning," said a soft monotone voice from somewhere in the shadows to Leola's left.

She jumped at the noise, realizing that he had been able to make himself invisible somehow, but instead of retreating into herself as she would have done if she were still a muggle, Leola held her head up high and replied, "Good morning, how are you?" In her bravest voice. After all, if she was to belong in this world now, she could not be frightened of such trivial things as a man who could make himself appear as if out of nowhere.

The man with the white hair smiled toothily at her before acknowledging Tom with a nod. "Tom. How are you my boy? Is your wand still working well for you? Eight and a half inches, ebony, with a core of unicorn hair, correct?" The man asked, though it did not truly seem to be a question.

"Excellent memory, Ollivander. I have it right here, in fact," Tom told Mr. Ollivander, indicating his cloak pocket.

"And whom do we have here," Mr. Ollivander asked her, now leaning over his counter top.

Holding out her hand politely to shake his much larger, heavily wrinkled hand, she said, "I'm Leola."

"Alesea Leola Williamson," Ollivander muttered in greeting. Leola's eyes grew large and her full lips formed an "o" of surprise, for how could he possibly know her full name. He had already begun taking her measurements with a magical tape measure by the time Tom chuckled and said, "I always did suspect you had seer blood in you, Ollivander."

In the end, Leola tried only three wands before one chose her. It was ten and a quarter inches long, but Ollivander assured her she would grow into it. And it was a deep cherry oak with a smooth handle and narrow tip; sturdy—good for transfiguration and defense, with a hippogriff feather core (a trait which Ollivander assured her meant her wand was very proud and loyal toward its owner).

After a long morning of shopping, Leola and Tom left Diagon alley, tired, but with smiles set firmly across their faces. Tom could not remember ever seeing Leola smile so much in the two years he had known the little girl. Leola could not wait to show her siblings all of her purchases. And she could not wait for September 1st.


	4. Other Side of the Tracks

Author's Note: I haven't had much time to write in the past few days; hopefully tomorrow I'll have a day to play catch-up. But, here's a little something for you until I can get my next chapter out there. Thanks so much to everyone who has taken the time to read and comment on my story. I can't tell you how appreciative I am!

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Little did Leola know, as she was leaving Ollivander's, merrily swinging the bag holding her new, beautiful cherry oak wand in one hand, while holding onto Tom's cloak with the other and talking his ear off about every little novelty she saw along the way, that on the other side of Diagon Alley another duo had just apparated onto the cobblestone streets.

Draco Malfoy did not like apparating. His loving mother, Narcissa had promised him that it was far less unpleasant when one was not merely along for the ride. But until the day that he was old enough to apparate himself, he would continue to dislike it, thanks very much.

His father had left the manor bright and early, headed to the ministry for "business" as he called it – though what Lucius Malfoy was in the business of, he could never be bothered to tell his son. (Privately, Draco thought his father was in the business of being a git.)

It was no secret, although it was never spoken of, that the days in which the master of the house was not in attendance were the happiest for the small family and its servants. The elves were cheerier, humming merrily as they went about their cleaning, the pictures were more talkative and lively, and in the wife and son there was the distinct feeling of content.

And so it was that when Lucius took the floo Network to the Ministry of Magic just after a tense and silent family breakfast that morning, Draco's mother announced that it seemed to be the perfect day to head to Diagon alley in preparation for his first year at Hogwarts.

Once in the crowded alley, Narcissa began leading her son to their first stop, the Leaky Cauldron for lunch. Both were quietly immersed in their own thoughts, but it was a pleasant sort of silence. Narcissa was happy to people watch, and enjoy the feeling of the warm sunlight on her beautiful, pale face. Her mouth was very slightly upturned, curiously absent was the trademark scowl which her face so often adorned when in the presence of her husband and his thuggish acquaintances.

Draco, for his part, kept his scowl permanently on display for any strangers in the crowd who may try to approach him. He had been instructed by his father from an early age what the expectations of the name Malfoy were.

Looking around; Draco saw with disgust that there were almost as many children in muggle clothing as magical. It simply wouldn't do to approach or be approached by that lot. But the boy soldiered on, quickly forgetting about the riff-raff on the street and managing to more pleasantly entertain himself with imagining Hogwarts and what it would be like.

Narcissa had likewise noticed the many muggle clothed shoppers, and gave a brief frown in their direction. Unlike her husband and most unfortunately, her son, Cissy did not bother herself with the hatred of muggles and muggleborns. This was not to say she was not prejudiced. Her negative feelings toward muggleborns were spurred from the decline in the pureblood customs and way of life as muggle admittance into the magical world rose. Tradition, Narcissa believed, is very important. Tradition and loyalty were what bound her to such a man as Lucius, and kept her from taking Draco and leaving him. Tradition was also a beautiful thing though. In the past, before the war, it had been what had held the magical community together. She did not like her traditions being threatened.

However, like Draco, she did not hold onto such thoughts for long. Today was going to be a happy day. Just herself and her loving son. With that thought, she opened the magical threshold that led to the Leaky Cauldron and ushered Draco inside.

Soon after, the duo left the pub to buy the rest of Draco's school things. They spent the entire day together before finally heading to Ollivander's to get Draco's wand: ten inches long, hawthorn, with a unicorn core. The wand, Mr. Ollivander told them, was reasonably pliant, good for charms.

Finally, at the end of a long day, the two ended their trip at Madam Malkin's, where they picked up Draco's new robes. They had stopped by earlier in the month to have Draco's measurements taken, but because their order had been so large, they'd had to wait a few weeks for his new wardrobe to be ready.

While Draco had been having his measurements taken that day, Cissy had perused the store absentmindedly. Vaguely she'd heard the bell ring, indicating a new customer. And moments later she'd heard the slightly haughty voice of her son, followed by the dulcet tones of another boy.

She sighed. Her son had a tendency to be quite abrasive, especially in regards to strangers; few were lucky enough to get a glimpse of the kind boy underneath. The boy that bandaged up Dobby, her husband's personal house elf quite frequently, and who had cried for an hour when his dragon plushy had been lost in the halls of the manor, only to end up stuffed under his pillow on his bed. That boy was thoroughly hidden behind the exterior of the prideful boy, desperate to gain his father's love and acceptance. She knew eventually he would grow out of this phase—or she hoped desperately that he would.

After shrinking down the last of her bags, Narcissa apparated the two home before Lucius had returned from the ministry.

Once he had returned, the family of three sat down to a silent three course family dinner, before her husband retreated into his study, and Draco excused himself to his bedroom.

Again, Narcissa Malfoy sighed, alone in the empty dining hall. She had many fears. The deterioration of the wizarding world, the return of the Dark Lord, and most seriously, that her son would turn into his father. Narcissa would do anything to make sure that did not happen.

Draco, up in his room began meticulously sorting through all of his new and expensive purchases. It was far too early to pack his trunk for Hogwarts, but that didn't stop him admiring all of his new potions equipment, his new dragon hide gloves, his transfigurations book and his charms book. As he went through all his new belongings, he began to imagine what the school would be like.

He would be in Slytherin, of course; like his father, and his mother, too. He would be top of his class, a seeker on his house's Quiddich team, like he'd always wanted. He would be popular, and his father would be very proud of him.

As he drifted off to sleep that night, surrounded by his emerald green silk sheets, and clutching his stuffed dragon, Elvendork, his last waking thoughts were of the magical school he was so excited to attend. He simply could not wait for September 1st.


	5. Sorting Hat Blues

**Hi. Me again. Hope you like this new chapter. I've gotten a few very positive reviews, and I would just like to say thank you for taking the time to tell me that you liked my writing. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and does a lot to improve my less than stellar confidence that someone out there appreciates and enjoys my spin on this story. So truly, thanks!**

For Leola and Draco both, it felt like an eternity before September 1, 1991 was finally upon them. At the end of the day, however, one of them would wish to take it all back.

Lying alone in his bed with his curtains drawn around him, Draco stared up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head and held in a sigh as he thought about a certain girl whom he'd met on the train that afternoon. "This day," thought Draco. "This day had turned into a disaster."

What had begun as an exciting day, full of promise, had quickly morphed into a nightmare for the blonde haired Slytherin; unfortunately, Draco was now doomed to fall asleep reliving the last twelve hours, and ultimately, to dream about them as well…

 **Kings Cross Station: September 1, 1991, 10:47am**

Draco and his parents had been among the first to arrive at platform 9 ¾ that morning—punctuality, of course, was of utmost importance. A Malfoy _never_ rushed! The small family of three then proceeded to stand closely together in silence, with Narcissa allowing her mind to wander, Lucius glaring at people he considered himself better than, and Draco trying his best to emulate his father.

At approximately 10:30, the Crabbe's and Goyle's arrived together, all looking around the platform as if a bit lost, until Crabbe senior spotted Lucius standing ten meters away, and like parasites, the group attached themselves to the most powerful people they could find.

Draco had grown up with Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle; however, he considered them more pets than friends. Then again, according to his father, Malfoy's didn't have friends (didn't need friends), only lackey's.

Still, though he'd never say it aloud, Draco was nervous, and seeing the familiar faces was a comfort to him. They quickly removed themselves from the adults and began discussing Hogwarts—well, Draco began to discuss Hogwarts (the only subject he'd been willing to talk about for weeks now), and Crabbe and Goyle mostly listened in fascination and threw in the occasional head nod of agreement.

It wasn't until most of the Hogwarts express passengers had already boarded that a little girl had caught the young wizard's eye. He'd been watching the entrance to the platform for some time, waving to acquaintances as they passed through, and so when the little girl pushing her own cart sped through the entrance way, almost late for the train, he had born witness.

This in itself was nothing extraordinary. There were many people coming and going whom Draco had never seen before, mudbloods, half-bloods, and purebloods alike. What initially kept his gaze on the girl was her size.

It was obvious from the fact that she was on the platform that she was a student, and so at least eleven years old; however, she was so short and scrawny, she didn't look a day over nine. She walked on her tiptoes in order to see over the cart, which she had to push with all of her strength just to move it forward. Her face was pink with the exertion. If that weren't enough, she was clearly unaccompanied by parents or older siblings. Her exceedingly long hair was a mousy brown color and almost unnaturally thick and unbecomingly disheveled; and though he couldn't clearly see her features from the distance she was at, she appeared to have a pretty sort of face.

As he watched her move through the thinning crowd, she tripped over her own feet and only her quick reflexes as she grabbed the trolley in front of her kept her from tumbling to the ground. She gave an exaggerated frown at her own clumsiness, and although she did look around to see if any others had seen her folly, she appeared to be rather more amused with herself than embarrassed.

It had been at that point that his mother had called his name for a final goodbye, and he tore his attention away from the little girl, immediately forgetting about her.

Almost as soon as the train had pulled away from Kings Cross, Crabbe and Goyle had left Draco alone in their compartment at his request, to go find the sweet trolley and bring him back some chocolate frogs and peppermint imps, his two favorites. He had been too excited this morning to eat breakfast, and was now suffering for it. That and he wanted some time alone.

Not moments after they'd left him, however, did his compartment door open up again, and the little girl from the platform looked up at him with big blue eyes.

"Umm, hi," she began. "Most of the other compartments are already full, or they have older students in them…" she trailed off with a blush. It was a few seconds before she seemed to realize he was waiting for her to finish her statement. "Is it—I mean, could I join you in here?"

"Sure. Crabbe and Goyle went to get sweets but they'll be back."

She gave a very small, almost maternal smile, and skipped into the compartment, sitting down diagonally from him.

"My name is Leola…well, it's Alesea, but no one calls me that."

"Draco." He held out his hand and once she shook it, he smirked arrogantly. "Lion? Your name is lion? Hoping to be a Gryffindor then," he wondered.

She scrunched up her nose in thought. "I'm just hoping to fit in somewhere, really. I suppose it doesn't much matter to me where I end up."

Draco thought that her answer was strange, and not only because she hadn't risen to his baiting. "Well, I know I'll be in Slytherin," the boy had told her with a pompous air. "Father says it is the noblest house, and I agree. My whole family has been in Slytherin for generations."

"Merlin was a Slytherin," she told him. "I hope you end up there just like your father." And he could detect her sincerity.

Crabbe and Goyle returned then, without any luck finding the trolley. When Draco sneered at their ineptitude, he watched from the corner of his eye as Leola frowned at him. He was just about to comment on it when she reached into her pocket and pulled out a strange foil packet, offering it to him.

"What's this," Draco wanted to know.

"It's my favorite sweet. Tom buys them for me, and he sent me with enough to keep me full until Christmas."

He took it from her and opened it, not caring enough to ask whom Tom was. The candy was a round, flat bit of chocolate. Experimentally, he took a bite.

His eyes grew wide. It was the best thing he'd ever tasted. He had always been a very picky child. Chocolate, peppermint imps, and pumpkin pasties were the only sweets he'd ever eat with any consistency. But in his wildest dreams, Draco had never imagined combining two of them. Now, having bitten into the dark chocolate, only to find a soft peppermint center, he imagined he'd never get a craving for anything else ever again. He put the rest of it in his mouth all at once, and looked at the wrapping.

"York Peppermint Patty," he read. "Where do you get these?"

"Dunno; like I said, Tom always buys some for me. I can write and ask."

"Please!" He found he sounded _too_ pleading, but could not bring himself to greatly care.

Eventually, Leola fell asleep. The trolley came and went, and eventually Crabbe and Goyle did another sweep of the train, having finished the candy they bought and still hungry for more. Draco was content to remain in his seat. He sent them on their way.

His lackey's ran back five minutes later to tell Draco that they'd heard Harry Potter was on the train, waking up Leola with their yells.

"W'as going on," she asked, looking dazed.

"Harry Potter is on the train," said Draco.

"We've just come back to tell you," Goyle said, not once looking in Leola's direction. "Let's go take a look at him."

Draco was about to agree and stand up when Leola huffed.

"Well, that would be incredibly rude, don't you think," she said, looking at Crabbe and Goyle like they'd just been confunded. "Ogling the poor boy. I bet every other student on this train has had the same idea. I know _I'd_ be sick of it. Especially when you consider why he's famous. If I were him," she said again. "I'd be pretty sick of it all."

Draco just stared at her in shock. It was the most she'd said since she'd introduced herself, and the first time she'd raised her voice above a whisper. The prideful part of his brain, the part that wanted to go and meet the famous Harry Potter, wanted to lash out at her – call her a know-it-all and tell her she didn't know what she was talking about; but the logical portion of his brain registered her criticisms and begrudgingly thought she had a point. He had the whole year to meet Potter, after all.

"Yeah, don't be stupid," he said to the two large eleven year olds still standing in the doorway glaring at the tiny witch. He hoped she hadn't noticed him begin to stand. "He's not a magical-circus attraction. We'll see him at the feast."

 **##############################################################################**

When they arrived at the Hogsmeade train station, Draco remembered his mother's insistence that he be always be a gentleman. He offered to help Leola with her trunk, and the two left Crabbe and Goyle behind to find their way to the platform on their own.

When he saw the half-breed giant Hagrid, from his trip to Diagon alley, standing on the platform and calling first years over, he turned to Leola, who was standing directly beside him, and made a derisive remark about the man.

"That's Hagrid. He's the gamekeeper. Father says he's like a savage. He lives in a _hut_ on the school grounds and gets drunk all the time."

Leola frowned at him, and he didn't know if he had even been meant to her hear her when she replied. "I bet he gives fantastic piggyback rides, though."

"Piggy-what?"

"Umm, never mind."

The two got on a boat with another boy, Blaise Zabini, who made it his personal mission to see just how red in the face he could make Leola before they caught their first glimpse of the castle (the answer being very red). Draco spent all his time frowning at the other boy's remarks and ignoring Pansy Parkinson, who had once kissed Draco on the cheek while their mother's had tea. He thought she was vile, and didn't care for a repeat.

His frowning quickly morphed however into wide-eyed awe as he saw for the first time, the castle that would now be his home. His expression morphed again when Leola grabbed his hand and squeezed it excitedly; looking at him and giving him the happiest, toothiest smile he'd ever seen. He didn't try to stop himself from looking over smugly at a put-out Blaise.

It wasn't until the sorting that things went very wrong. Harry Potter had been put into Gryffindor, which was a disappointment, but Draco figured he'd still get a chance to meet him in classes and around the castle.

Sadly, Leola had also been sorted into Gryffindor. It hadn't been until her name had been called that he'd realized how badly he wanted her to be in Slytherin with him. He'd never had a real friend before—only followers. He was at odds with himself. His father taught him that friendship was a weakness, but he wanted her to be his friend. The hat had barely touched her head before it shouted Gryffindor. Not even he'd been sorted that quickly.

The second devastating blow was definitely the more troubling of the two. He'd never thought to ask…the thought had never even _occurred_ to him…to ask her what her last name was. Now, as he lie in bed looking up at his emerald green curtains and the wooden ceiling above him, he felt like kicking himself. His father would be furious if he ever found out.

Because her name was Alesea Leola Williamson and Williamson is not a pureblood name.

The very first friend Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune and title had ever made was a _mudblood_.


	6. Remember Remember the 1st of September

Leola awoke on the first of September long before dawn. After some time spent tossing and turning, she eventually swung her legs clumsily over the side of the bed, and moved to the trunk by her door, careful not to wake up her baby sister, who she shared a room with.

Swinging open the lid of her used trunk, Leola got to work going through its contents. This had become a tradition for her in the days leading up to the beginning of the month. The little eleven year old told herself time and again that she was simply checking to make sure nothing was missing, but that did little to stop her tiny hands from moving reverently over cloaks and beakers, or gently flipping through the pages of her schoolbooks.

Dawn was just beginning to break over the ramshackle buildings that made the skyline outside her second story bedroom window by the time she had finished her meticulous inventory for the very last time. In a few long hours, Leola would be catching her train.

However, before she could catch her train, there were other traditions which had to be met. The first was breakfast. Putting on a pair of socks to muffle the sounds of her feet on the hardwood, Leola crept down the stairs, tiptoeing past both her brothers' room (but not before taking a peek inside to observe Samuel lying in his bed, spread out like a starfish with his sheets sequestered to a pile on the floor. He was snoring, as was typical, and his longish brown hair—nearly the exact same color as Leola's—was tickling his cheek as he inhaled and exhaled. In the bed beside his was Robert, curled up in a little ball, the exact opposite of Samuel who seemed to be trying to take up as much of his bed as was possible) and the closed door of her foster parents as she made her way to the kitchen.

Once there she set about pouring cereal and making coffee. She knew that by the time it finished brewing her siblings would have woken up to the smell, so she set the milk on the center of table and tucked into her own bowl of cereal while she waited for them to come down.

As predicted, her whole family was downstairs by the time the coffee had finished. While the children all yawned and rubbed at the sleep still in their eyes, her mother and father poured their cups of coffee before going back upstairs for another few hours of shut eye.

Leola spent the remainder of her morning pacing the ground floor of her house. She didn't want to wake her parents up, as they would most likely be very cranky if she did, however, as time ticked away and the eleventh hour of the day grew nearer, she knew she had to.

"Mrs. Wright," she whispered to her foster mother, attempting to coax her gently from her sleep.

"Uhmph," was Mrs. Wright's reply.

"Mrs. Wright," Leola said louder. "Mama, it's almost time for me to board the train, we have to go."

"Go yourself," her foster mother spat viciously.

Leola paused, unsure what to do. "O-Okay. I'll see you at Christmas then, Mrs. Wright; I'll write to you soon."

Leola went back downstairs to say her final good-byes to Samuel, Robert, and Katie, before tugging her trunk and carry-on bag out the door behind her and making her way down the street to Tom's pub, hoping he would allow her to use the floo network to get to King's Cross.

As it turned out, King's Cross did not have access to the floo network. Thankfully though, the Ministry of Magic did, and Tom floo called a friend of his who worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. His friend arranged it so that Leola was allowed to floo to the Ministry's Lobby, where she met a balding red-headed man by the name of Arthur.

Arthur, she found, was a very polite, good man. He walked her the whole way down the street to Kings Cross so she would not be alone, or get lost, and explained to her how to find and get through the entrance to platform 9¾. He told her about his sons, who also attend Hogwarts, and asked her many silly questions about electricity and the purpose of a safety pin.

"Here we are then," he said to her once they'd reached the train station. "I've got to get back to work. Can you find your way from here?"

She shook her head. "Yes, sir, thank you very much for all of your help!"

"Best be on your way then, you're running very late! Have a good first term, dear." Then Arthur disappeared in the late morning crowd and Leola was left to find her way through the chaos of the train station to the correct platform.

As soon as she managed to get through the entryway to the platform—with only ten minutes to spare—she tripped over her own feet. Looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to her, Leola couldn't help but feel somewhat embarrassed, but was more so amused at her own clumsiness. Soon she was on the train, looking for a compartment to settle into for the duration of the trip.

After a few moments looking for a compartment she felt like kicking herself for being so late. Almost all of the compartments were entirely full, and the only one she had come across that had any room in it also had a snogging couple; Leola had blushed and walked away very quickly.

The next compartment she found had only two people, a red-haired boy and a black-haired boy. Leola was about to open the door when she heard the red head ask in a brash voice if the other boy really was Harry Potter. The dark-haired boy with the glasses nodded.

At first, Leola was very curious about Harry, after all, she'd heard all about the famous Harry Potter from Tom, and some of his regulars like Mundungus Fletcher; but her curiosity was quickly dispelled.

Harry was like Leola. He was an orphan. She wondered if he remembered his parents, or if like her, they were complete strangers, only missed because of the obvious void they had left in her. Did he know what they looked like, what their hobbies were, what their names were? Leola decided to keep walking. If she were Harry Potter, she would not want the attention; she would want to be left alone.

"Finally," she thought when she'd reached a compartment near the very rear of the train which only housed one very blond boy, who was like her, already in his school robes. She hesitantly opened the door. "Umm, hi. Most of the other compartments are already full, or they have older students in them…" she trailed off, thinking about the snogging couple. "Is it—I mean, could I join you in here?"

"Sure. Crabbe and Goyle went to get sweets but they'll be back."

Leola smiled at him, grateful for his kindness, and took a seat as far from him as possible, so his friends weren't inconvenienced by her joining them.

"My name is Leola…well, it's Alesea, but no one calls me that," she rambled.

"Draco." He told her, holding out his hand for her to shake. Then he smirked at her, and adopted a condescending voice. "Lion? Your name is lion? Hoping to be a Gryffindor then?"

She had the feeling that his Draco boy was attempting to bait her, and would be judging her worth based on her response. But regardless of the fact that he seemed to think poorly of Gryffindor house, Leola thought hard about everything she'd learned about all of the houses from "Hogwarts, A History." She was going to give him an honest answer, even if it was not the answer he wanted to hear.

"I'm just hoping to fit in somewhere, really," she decided ultimately. "I suppose it doesn't much matter to me where I end up."

"Well, I know I'll be in Slytherin," the boy informed her in the same haughty tone, and she figured that whether or not she'd passed it, she at least hadn't failed his test. "Father says it is the noblest house, and I agree. My whole family has been in Slytherin for generations."

"Merlin was a Slytherin," she agreed with him that Slytherin was a good house, though she thought he probably already knew about Merlin. "I hope you end up there just like your father."

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle returned then, and Leola was not impressed by them. Though, if she'd had any lingering guilt over her almost immediate dislike the two, their obvious disdain for her would have quickly dispelled it.

She did feel a moment of sympathy for them when Draco condemned them for not returning with any sweets. To her, Draco seemed to be a nice, if high strung boy, but it was clear that he did not see the two large wizards as friends. If anything, from the way he treated them and the way they seemed to expect it, they were his personal assistants. Although she had immediately begun to think of Crabbe and Goyle as Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum, she did not think it right for Draco to use them this way.

With this in mind, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the sweet that she had been saving for later in the train ride. She had many more in her trunk so parting with this one was no real hardship. She held it out for him to take, which he did, looking very confused all the while.

"What's this?"

"It's my favorite sweet. Tom buys them for me, and he sent me with enough to keep me full until Christmas." She told him, not wanting him to feel bad for taking her candy.

He took an experimental bite, which made her suppress a smile; honestly, it wasn't poison.

His eyes grew wide, and her smile grew wide at his reaction. He had just shoved the entire sweet in his mouth at once, and now looked a bit like a blond hamster.

"York Peppermint Patty," he read from the wrapper. "Where do you get these?"

"Dunno; like I said, Tom always buys some for me. I can write and ask." She offered.

"Please!" He said before blushing at his own enthusiasm.

Eventually, Leola fell asleep, which was not an easy feat with Tweetle's Dee and Dum taking turns glaring at her, and Draco loving the sound of his own voice. It wasn't until she heard Crabbe and Goyle excitedly announcing Harry Potter's name that she awoke.

"W'as going on," she asked, feeling very confused.

"Harry Potter is on the train," said Draco, sounding excited.

"We've just come back to tell you," Goyle said, not once looking at Leola. "Let's go take a look at him."

This made Leola very angry. Harry was just a boy, not a bearded lady or any other attraction in a freak show. He didn't deserve to be "taken a look at" by them. "Well, that would be incredibly rude," she said, making sure to inject as much venom into her voice as possible. "Don't you think? Ogling the poor boy. I bet every other student on this train has had the same idea. I know _I'd_ be sick of it. Especially when you consider why he's famous. If I were him," she said, "I'd be pretty sick of it all." She looked up at the large boys as though they were particularly dim-witted.

"Yeah, don't be stupid," Draco said after a moment, and Leola smiled at him, very happy that he had agreed with her. "He's not a magical-circus attraction. We'll see him at the feast."

Draco surprised her again when they arrived at Hogsmeade station by leaving his henchmen behind and offering to help her with her carry-on; although when he criticized the very tall man named Hagrid (whom he'd told her was half giant) she did find herself a bit disappointed. Perhaps Hagrid shouldn't get drunk on school grounds and set a bad example for the students, but there was nothing wrong with living in a hut, or being different. He didn't seem so very savage to her. "I bet he gives fantastic piggyback rides, though," she thought aloud, hoping he hadn't heard her.

"Piggy-what?"

She felt her face heat up. "Umm, never mind."

The two climbed into a boat with another boy, Blaise Zabini, who spent the entire time complimenting Leola on various things, from her hair, to her eyes, to the way her nose scrunched up when she was embarrassed. This left Leola feeling very flustered.

Draco was very quiet, but she thought that had to do with the loud girl sitting across from him and trying desperately to get his attention.

When Leola saw the castle for the first time, its silhouette looking very dramatic against the back drop of the setting sky, she thought she might cry. This would be her home now. Not a house filled with too many children and not enough food, not a place to sleep and be away from as much as she could manage. It was more than she ever imagined. Leola was about to belong here and she could not stop the joyful smile from erupting.

So overwhelming were her thoughts that she reached over instinctively and grasped Draco's hand in hers. She squeezed. Draco squeezed back. They looked on in silence as the castle loomed ever closer.

Leola and Draco held hands until his name was called by the stern looking Professor McGonagall. She was so happy for him when he was almost immediately sorted into Slytherin, and she gave a loud cheer as the rest of the room clapped, hoping he could hear her above the din.

Her name was one of the very last names called. She stepped up to the hat and sat down nervously. Professor McGonagall had barely lowered the hat her head when she surprisingly, heard the hat speak to her. It said only, "It is very rare, Alesea Williamson, that a student so perfectly represents the characteristics of one house. GRYFFINDOR!"

She was sad to be separated from Draco. He was the first friend that she had made in the Wizarding World, and she had a feeling he would be disappointed that she was sorted into the house disparaged on the train. She hoped he would still want to be friends.

With her head held high, she joined her new housemates, and was soon listening to the different conversations, occasionally even joining in. She and a fluffy headed girl named Hermione found they had a lot in common, included the same favorite book. And Ron and his older brother's, Fred and George (whom she learned were Arthur's sons and happily told them all about how kind and wonderful a man she believed him to be) were eager to teach her and Harry, who was even more clueless than herself about the magical world, all about Quiddich and games such as exploding snap.

She walked with her fellow first years to their common room, and fell asleep soon after, surrounded by the color scarlet. She was utterly exhausted.

She could not _wait_ for tomorrow.


	7. Worst Impressions, Best Intentions

**Author's Note: Okay, so I'm not confident at all in this chapter. It's kind of the turning point in Draco's character in regards to my story and if you think it needs work or changed, I would really love and appreciate the input. I don't have a beta or anyone to read it and discuss it with, so I leave it to you, my reader's, to please help me improve my story. Thanks so much!**

The first month of lessons passed more quickly than Draco could have imagined. Slytherin, like he'd predicted, was the perfect fit for him and he found that not only did the students in his own year revere him as the heir to one of the richest and most powerful old wizarding families in Britain, but so did some of the older years (as they should). Therefore it was with the confidence gained by the knowledge that he had a firm standing in Hogwarts that allowed Draco to begin walking the halls as the Prince he was.

He would be lying if he said that none of his observations while strutting through the corridors had to do with the famous scar-headed boy, Harry Potter. It had been almost a month since classes had begun and though Draco had potions with the Gryffindor's and frequently saw Potter walking the corridors and eating in the Great Hall, he'd yet to speak a single word to the boy.

Typically, this would have made the spoilt wizard very impatient, but he could not forget the words of the small brunette girl whom he'd befriended on the train, and as he observed the boy-who-lived he realized her words were truer than he could have imagined.

On the very first day of classes, Draco had watched and listened as a gaggle of nosy students of all years had swarmed around the dark haired boy with the round glasses. They stood on tiptoes and doubled back to get a better look at him, whispering to one another, "Did you see his face," or "Did you see his scar?"

Normally Draco, who knew himself well enough to admit that he loved attention, would have simply assumed that Harry Potter loved it as well. But Draco had the benefit of watching unbiased from afar. He saw how the boy kept his head down and scurried away quickly from gawkers. His cheeks sometimes grew red, his feet sometimes twitched with a repressed need to make a run from the attention. So Draco saw what few others cared to notice: Harry Potter was humble.

This realization only instilled an ever growing desire to meet the boy-who-lived in the boy-who-had-everything; for Draco's eleven year old logic had made an all-important connection between Potter, and his only friend Leola. Both were humble, and both were kind. And Draco, who had never had any friends before meeting the muggle born Leola, now saw in Harry the potential for a second friend—and he yearned for it.

Now, one month into his first school year, Draco was staring at a notice pinned up on the common room board: flying lessons began this Thursday with the Gryffindor's.

Too any of his housemates, Draco would have appeared the epitome of a pureblood gentleman, straight-backed and blank-faced as he read; inwardly he was a jumble of excited thoughts. He could spend the whole hour outside with Leola. He could finally meet Harry Potter. He could show off his flying lessons to Madame Hooch, who could help him make his house team.

It was that Thursday morning that Draco made a grave error. Later in his life, he and Leola would be sitting in the Hogwarts library studying for their OWL's, and would reflect on this very moment, and how a mistake can somehow become the best thing that can ever happen to a person—if, like Draco had done, you choose to swallow your pride and learn from your errors. Fortunately for fifth year Draco Malfoy, who knew from experience he was inclined to bouts of prideful and sometimes spiteful behavior he had a group of friends who called him out of such tendencies and a best friend to soften him throughout the years. He doesn't like to think of what he may have become otherwise.

Unfortunately, first year Draco had not long been friends with Leola, and was still heavily under the control of his father, while at the same time trying to prove his dominance to his followers. Because of this, he had begun to pick on some of the other students, one of them being Neville Longbottom.

It was the morning of the first year's first flying lessons, and Draco was outrageously excited! But, being a well-bred pureblood of good manners, he could not properly expend his energy. This led to a very high strung first year.

Across the Great Hall, Draco watched as Neville proudly displayed a gift of some sort from home to all of his house mates, who appeared to be showing polite interest, if not genuine. Draco shot out of his seat, his two shadows reluctantly dropping their food and immediately following.

He grabbed the object out of Longbottom's hand and began to inspect it, unsure what it was. Harry sat on watching with a confused look on his face; Ron, who knew of the Malfoy family, was frowning disapprovingly at Draco; Leola, who had never seen Malfoy act cruelly or spoilt, stood up with her palms flat on the table before her, prepared to reprimand him for his actions.

Thankfully for Draco, before any words could even be said, McGonagall had appeared before them as if she'd apparated.

"What's going on," Minerva McGonagall demanded.

Neville hesitated. "Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," he eventually said.

"Just looking," told her before gently passing it back off to Neville.

Unluckily for Draco, when he looked back Leola's steady gaze was still on him. He gulped. She, unlike everyone else at the table, had not been fooled.

Unlike when he'd woken up this morning, Draco now found that he was beginning to dread the thought of flying lessons—specifically, of seeing Leola and the disappointed expression that was sure to be on her face. Therefore it was with a glum expression that Leola found him at three-thirty that afternoon. She sidled up to him and at first he stiffened, awaiting her censure. She said nothing, however, and he began to believe that he had escaped her wrath.

They spoke of easy and unimportant topics until the flying instructor, Madam Hooch arrived.

"Well, what are you all waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up," she commanded.

Reluctantly, Draco left Leola's side and went to stand near his broom, in between Crabbe and Goyle. He looked down at the broom distastefully and thought it was a disgrace. He must convince his father to speak with the Board of Governor's about acquiring new school brooms.

Soon everyone was trying to get their brooms into their awaiting hands. Draco, Ron, and most of the other Slytherin's who had all had practice flying before, had no trouble whatsoever in commanding their brooms into their hands. Harry watched the others before he tried himself, but his broom was also immediately obedient.

Draco watched with fond amusement as Leola stood diagonal from him and commanded her broom; "UP!" with increasing frustration, for it simply would not listen to her. Draco wanted very much to walk over and help her, but did not know whether Madam Hooch would appreciate this or not. Beside Leola was her friend Hermione, who was half-heartedly attempting to get her broom into her hand, but who looked frightened at the thought that she may actually succeed.

Eventually, everyone succeeded with their brooms and they had moved on to hovering. On his friend's other side, Neville was a pile of nerves, pushing off the ground before the whistle had even blown. He pushed off with far too much force and shot up in the air much too quickly for an untrained flyer.

Leola, who had seen what he was about to do just a millisecond before he'd done it, had thrown logic to the wind and in a display of that damnable Gryffindor courage, had reached out and grabbed his cloaks (as if a twig of a girl could stop a boy nearly twice her weight from shooting up into the sky by sheer force of will) while Hermione and Draco watched on in horror.

He thanked Merlin that she had managed to hold on to her broom, for when Neville had reached about twenty feet in the air, she'd lost her grip. Before she could fall to the ground she put her broomstick firmly between her thighs and somehow, incredibly managed to hover in mid-air with no prior experience. She then shot off after Neville, who was now sideways on his broom, and once again grabbed him by his cloak just before he would have fallen thirty feet to the ground. But as she lowered him slowly, his cloak ripped. After all of Leola's trouble and the useless lump had fallen anyway.

Madam Hooch, of course, had to escort Longbottom to the infirmary, and by this point Draco was certain that if she didn't, he'd somehow end up injuring himself even further. He was now frustrated that flying lessons had been stalled, and furious that Leola had almost been injured because of Longbottom's incompetence and her own Gryffindor attributes.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?" Draco said to his fellow Slytherin, who joined in his laughing.

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Leola, not liking the spite she heard in his voice and not caring for him like this one bit. Beside her, Pavarti Patil and Hermione Granger stood like her own personal Crabbe and Goyle, arms crossed and scowling.

But Draco was angry at Leola for endangering herself, and so allowed Pansy Parkinson, the bane of his existence, to tease his friend while he set his sights on the Remembrall Neville had let drop in the grass. "Look! It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

"Give that here, Malfoy," Harry said quietly. Harry though he barely knew Malfoy, did not like bullies and thought right now Malfoy was acting like one.

Draco disliked being opposed and only lashed out more. He sneered at Leola, her friends, and at Harry. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find—how about—up a tree?"

"Give. It. _Here!_ " Harry demanded, but Malfoy had already jumped astride his broomstick and flown into the air, to hover at the topmost branches of the nearest tree.

"Come and get it, Potter!" And he did. In an amazing feat of flying, Harry had straddled his own broom and saved Neville's Remembrall to the sound of many cheers and an the screech of an angry Professor McGonagall.

"HARRY POTTER!"

Only later, after Professor McGonagall had taken Harry from the lessons, sputtering incoherently because she was so enraged, did Malfoy regret allowing his anger to get the better of him. His saving grace, though he did not realize it, would be that as Harry was walking past the Slytherin, he caught sight of the other boys guilt-ridden face.

Draco did not want Harry to get in trouble. That had never his intention. What did he want? He realized he didn't even know. At the end of the lesson, Leola walked up to him and he dismissed his goons, not wanting them to witness the verbal lashing he was sure to receive.

He was surprised, when instead of yelling she looked at him sadly and said, "I don't understand. Why did you do that?"

He shook his head. "I don't know."

"Why do you bully the other students and Neville most especially?"

"He could have gotten you killed today!" Draco hissed, while inwardly cringing as he realized that he did not want her to know that he picked on the Hufflepuffs and the muggleborn Ravenclaws.

"No, I could have gotten myself killed today," she said in a voice that would not tolerate any further argument. "You know, I've heard what others say about you and the other Slytherins but I always ignored them because I'd never seen it. They say you think you're better than everyone else, you especially, because you're a Malfoy and you're rich and powerful so you look down on others. And that that's why the other Slytherin's follow you.

"I always ignored what Ron and the others said though. I said they follow you because you're charismatic. But today, Draco…

"They're right, aren't they? You do think you're better."

"No. I don't," he said immediately, but the lie was obvious.

"You're not, you know. You're no better than anyone just because you're rich or because of your family's name. I don't care about any of that and neither does anyone else." He wanted to argue. The Slytherin's do care, his father does care, but she didn't give him the chance. "Most people just care about what kind of a person you are. So be a better one. Grow up, Draco."

He looked down at his feet, ashamed of himself. How did she do that? Make him feel like he was a five year old being reprimanded by his mother for causing a scene in Diagon Alley because she wouldn't buy him a new toy broom.

His father would say that Leola was barely human, only fit to work alongside their house elves, and his father was always right, wasn't he?

He wanted to yell at her and tell her so, tell her that he didn't have to listen to her because he _was_ better than her, but that didn't help the guilt (in fact, it would probably only make it worse, he reasoned. So he stayed quiet).

Then she held out her hand for him to take. He looked up at her, confused at first, until she gave him a soft smile which he took to mean, "It's okay; I haven't given up on you yet." He took her little hand in his bigger one and squeezed it tightly. Together they walked back to the castle.

Draco could admit to himself that he was wrong today, and possibly had been wrong most of his life. Maybe he wasn't better than anyone and if he was, he should act like it and not demean others. He would not apologize though. No, that was not in his nature. But he would be better from now on, he thought to himself. It was time for him to grow up.


	8. It's the End of His Year As We Know it

Draco, as it turned out, would not grow up that year. He remained an eleven year old boy until his birthday on June 5, 1992, when he turned twelve.

He did, however, make amends. While never outright apologizing to Neville or any of the others he had teased in the first month of his first year at Hogwarts, Draco did grow out of the habit (for the most part). And by the end of the first term, Neville would even stick for Malfoy to Ronald Weasley—who had never forgiven Draco for being a Malfoy, or for almost getting Harry expelled that day during flying lessons—saying, "Honestly, he's not so bad."

Malfoy, for his part found, both to his horror and consternation, that the second friend he was to make at Hogwarts would not be Harry Potter after all, who thankful did eventually forgive him once he made seeker for his house Quiddich team, and forgot about the incident altogether after he and Ron had almost killed Hermione on Halloween by making a mistake of their own.

No, Draco's second friend was, in fact, to be Neville Longbottom, the nervous, near squib of a boy. Draco had found, almost against his will, that when the boy was not a quivering incoherent mess under the gaze of the Slytherin head of house, Professor Snape, that Neville was a pleasant sort of person, if not forgetful and far too self-conscious. Draco figured he would grow out of that the more time he spent away from his grandmother and uncle.

While Harry did forgive Draco for that day, and while he silently observed him acting like less of a prat, he still didn't think he liked Draco very much—mostly because Ron hated him, but also because of the way he treated Hermione when Leola wasn't around.

Draco's sudden benevolence had not endeared him to the older Slytherins. They weren't foolish enough to alienate Draco, he was far too powerful in the pureblood world, but they did not hide their glares, and whispered about him when he was away from the common roon.

Those in his own year were predominately similar apart from Crabbe and Goyle, who couldn't care less whom he spoke to so long as they were allowed to trail behind him like lap dogs and reap the benefits of his wealth and influence.

And so the year came to a close for Draco. It was the day after final examinations and he was eager to find Leola at the Gryffindor breakfast table to discuss essay questions and grades. He was in such a good mood that he may even be inclined to include Hermione in the conversation, though she was a mudblood and the worst sort of know-it-all.

Instead, Draco found Leola, Hermione, Ron, and Neville sitting on the stairs outside of the Great Hall. Leola was visibly upset, with red eyes and a flushed face, and Neville was chewing on his nails, something he usually only did just before potions. Surprisingly, it was Ron and Hermione that caused Draco the most concern. They looked like they'd had a run in with a Whomping Willow.

Before he'd even had the chance to approach them, Leola had spotting him and run at him, hanging off of him like a wet rag. He only caught every few words, but gathered from her hysterics that Hermione had stunned her and Neville using a second year spell, and Potter was in the hospital wing, unconscious.

Once he'd walked her back to her friends, Ron had grudgingly filled him in on the events which Leola had been unable to.

By lunch that afternoon, everyone in the castle had learned about the Philosopher's Stone and Potter's stand of against Lord Voldemort. Suddenly he was more famous than ever; he'd saved the wizarding world again! (Although he kept it to himself, Draco thought his bravery was foolish, and he wanted to kiss Hermione's feet for stunning Leola and Neville—but mostly Leola—even if she was still very put out about it.)

In the end, Draco didn't know how he'd gotten the idea. He'd only suddenly remembered the beginning of the year, when he was still prone to watching Harry Potter from afar, that he remembered the look of a lost boy on his face every morning when the mail came. Harry had only received one of two things the entire year, while Draco's eagle owl brought him almost daily correspondence and sweets.

In an act of kindness which confused Ron's perception of Malfoy to no end, he sent an express owl home to his mother, asking if Dobby could please make an assortment of homemade sweets, and the next morning after his package of sweets had arrived, he walked hand-in-hand with Leola to the hospital wing to drop them off to a still unconscious Harry.

Harry made a full recovery, and before everyone knew it they were on the Hogwarts express, on their way to King's Cross Station. Draco managed to lose Crabbe and Goyle in the confusion on the platform, and found a compartment on the train with Neville and Leola. Soon they were playing exploding snap and waiting for the rest of the students to board.

They were joined soon after by Hermione, who still felt awful about stunning Leola, but had been desperate to keep her best friend safe and panicked. And where Hermione goes, Harry and Ron will follow. The six shared their compartment the entire way home, and though there was still some awkwardness between Draco and Harry, and coldness between Draco, Ron and Hermione, the ride was pleasant and full of laughter. Too soon they'd arrived at their destination.

Waiting for Draco on the platform as he exited, hand-in-hand with Leola, was a worried looking Narcissa and a furious looking Lucius. Draco's smile disappeared and looked down at his well shined shoes. Quickly, and with less enthusiasm than was his custom, he hugged the witch goodbye, not wanting her to meet the racial censure of her father. What Draco was most afraid of however, whether he realized it himself or not, was that he did not know whether he'd find the courage to disagree with his father after all the two young students had been through this year.

And thus ended the first year for Draco Malfoy, and began the worst summer of his life.

 **Author's announcement: Don't worry, this is just filler. Leola's part of first year will fill in all of the blanks. ;)**


	9. TROLL IN THEbathroom?

As Leola walked back to the castle hand-in-hand with Draco after their disastrous first flying lesson, she couldn't help but find herself conflicted. She cared about Draco, he was the first friend she'd made, and he'd always been nice to her. But did he really think he was better than her? She knew he held himself above Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum—treated them like annoying pets, even.

She'd also heard about how he'd begun bullying the Hufflepuffs and some of the Ravenclaws, too; and she'd never cared for the cool disinterest he'd shown her best friend Hermione.

But as she snuck a glance at Draco through the peripherals of her eyes, Leola knew that she'd already forgiven him.

##############################################################################

Entirely too soon, Scotland's cool summer breeze grew colder and harsher. Winter cloaks were pulled out of trunks and dusted off; students wouldn't be found out of doors without thick woolen gloves and hats. And seemingly out of nowhere, Halloween was upon Hogwarts.

Leola had been late for charms class, having tripped and fallen on the stairs to the owlery after sending a note off to the dusty house in the center of London where her beloved and much missed siblings waited to hear from her. Professor Flitwick had been very kind to her when she had entered the classroom five minutes late, apologizing profusely; and since she had refused to go to the hospital wing for scuffed knees, he had offered to mend the tear in her thick black tights and sent her off to her seat in between Seamus and Dean.

By the end of the lesson, she was ready to call this Halloween quits and start fresh second year. Her long hair had been singed when her menace of a desk mate, Seamus, had managed to blow up his feather instead of levitating it as he had been attempting to do. (Her peers had found the whole thing hysterical). But more frustrating was the never ending squabbling between Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, who were seated just two rows below her and slightly to the left.

Hermione, she knew, had a tendency toward being a know-it-all. This was a trait Leola herself minded very little, recognizing the genuine care and concern that lay behind her friend's actions, and having felt too little of both of those things in her life. Ron was at the opposite end of the spectrum. He was a simple sort of boy and there were no lines to read between. Whatever his current emotion was, was plain across his sleeve, as well as his face and often his tongue; while he had a lot of good qualities, his penchant to speak without thinking had already gotten him into trouble with multiple people - students, teachers, and ghosts alike.

Today, both of Leola's friends were exhibiting some of their lesser admired characteristics while also, unfortunately, sharing a work desk. It was one of Seamus's explosions waiting to happen, all of it culminating just outside of the charms classroom when Ron said to Harry within the hearing range of every single first year Gryffindor in a falsely hushed voice that Hermione was "a nightmare with no friend's."

Everyone had laughed. Everyone, that is, apart from Hermione - who shoulder-checked her way past Ron, Harry and any other first year in her way, before sprinting off into another part of the castle - and Leola. Leola had not run after Hermione immediately. She had stopped where she stood, along with the rest of her class and watched in silent rage while her classmates laughed, while Harry's face morphed from amused, to embarassed. "I think she heard you," the bespectacled boy muttered.

"Ronald Weasley, what is wrong with you?" She screamed at him in a tone which, reminding him inexplicably of this beloved and feared mother made him freeze mid laugh and gulp, comically.

"Oh, come on Leola," he said after a beat, appealing to her to understand. "She's a nightmare! She is and you know it. You're the only person who can stand to be around her."

Leola turned pink for a moment. She did not know what to say. Hermione was her best friend, and certainly not a nightmare. But she could not deny that her abrasive personality had done much to repell the others her age. Still, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and prepared herself to go head-to-head alone with the rest of her housemates.

"Yes. I _can_ stand to be around her, a great deal more than you lot," she said venomously. "Are you Gryffindors? Where is your chivalry now?"

Not one of them had anything to say, and in fact, only Harry and Ron would meet Leola's eye. Finding even that short burst of anger had exhausted her entirely, she said only one more thing before scurrying away after her bushy-haired, big-hearted best friend. "You despise bullies, Harry. I wonder how it is that for a moment you and Ron became them."

She did not see the two pale boys blanch as her words wrapped around them like chains and dragged them down to see their culpability at last. Leola was already running after her friend.

##############################################################################

Leola had begun searching the castle from top to bottom, disregarding her History of Magic lesson entirely. Binns didn't even know the names of his students, and wouldn't realize she and Hermione had skipped. Her search came up fruitless, until she ran into Parvati, who had felt the sting of Leola's words keenly, and had heard a rumor that Hermione was in the girls lavatory on the first floor, crying, but wanted to be left alone. Leola hugged her in thanks before taking off. She sprinted down two flights of moving stairs, past the off-limits third floor cooridor, past some upperclass Ravenclaws standing outside the great hall, and finally came to a stop, entirely out of breath, in front of the closed wooden door she sought.

Inside, she found Hermione just as Parvati had told her - crying in a bathroom stall. Her school bag had been thrown with a carelessness very much unsuited to Hermione's character, near the sinks.

"Go away, Leola." Hermione spat when she knocked timidly at the bathroom stall door and announced herself. Instead, Leola sighed and got down on her hands and knees. She was after all, still very small for her age. She easily pulled her body under the bathroom cubicle where the frizzy girl had barracaded herself in, and sat herself as a stone centurian at Hermione's feet.

Neither girl said a word for the next two hours, even as Hermione sniffled and Leola's stomach growled for the Halloween feast. They sat in friendly silence until finally, just as pudding must be starting in the great hall, Hermione stood up and rose her chin haughtily in the air. "We should go. Professor McGonnegal will take away points if we're out after curfew."

"Okay," Leola agreed. They stood up and brushed themselves off. Leola opened the stall door...

##############################################################################

Leola squeaked loudly and closed the stall door as quickly as she could without making anymore noise. Her heart was racing, there was sweat forming on her brow, and a single word seemed the only thing her mind was capable of producing: TROLL.

Hermione gave her friend a funny look and attempted to sidle past her in the confining space of the bathroom cubicle, but Leola barred her way by splaying out her hands in a dramatic fashion.

"Leola, what are you doing? We're going to get in trouble!" The big haired girl huff.

"T-troll. TROLL!" Leola cried quietly.

"Troll? What do you me tro-oooaAHHH-" Hermione's sentence trickled off into a scream as the wooden stalls above them were reduced to rather large splinters by the club of a mountain troll. The girl's reached for each other, each trying to protect her friend from the falling debris even as they flung their bodies to the floor. It seemed that as soon as they'd been covered by a thin layer of hard wood, another paralyzing crash came from somewhere above them and more dust and debris was settling atop of the two terrified children.

Dust covering both of their faces, fearful tears making tracks down their cheeks as the girls lay shaking on the floor. Leola had no idea what to do. Hermione was going to die! She was going to die!

Suddenly, she heard Harry's voice. "Hermione!" He yelled as he barged into the girl's bathroom with Ron half a step behind him. "Confuse it!"

"Oy, pea-brain," yelled Ron from somewhere in the room.

Leola and Hermione began digging themselves out from under the debris now that the troll's attention had been diverted. Both girl's were bruised, and bleeding from small abbrasions. "Come on Hermione! We have to run," Leola yelled. She tried pulling Hermione by the arm, but now that her friend had gotten a look at the twelve foot brute, she was frozen in terror.

Driven into a rage by all of the yelling and distraction the troll began to charge toward Ron, a rough growl escaping its throat as the creature closed the distance between itself and the petrified ginger. Leola watched, helpless as Harry jumped on its back, desperate to stop it. His wand, previously grasped tightly in his hand went straight into the creature's right nostril.

Now more furious than ever, the troll began flinging Harry, who was barely holding on, from side to side. At any minute it would hit him with its club. Ron pulled out his own wand now, but quickly faltered, not knowing what to do to help his best mate.

"Wingarium Leviosa!" Hermione yelled the levitating spell over the noise, making a "swish and flick" movement while holding an imaginary wand in her closed fist.

Ron copied her exactly and the troll's club flew out of its hand, levitating for a moment over his large head before falling onto its owner's head. Ron had rendered the troll unconscious.

All four children stood erect among the wreckage of the girl's lavatory. They were heaving from exerction and addrenalin, and in shock that they had survived. None of them said a word. And that was how the head's of houses found them only moment's later, standing next to each other, looking lost and afraid.

They left the girl's bathroom soon after, down ten points for trying to take on a mountain troll, and with ten more points for defeating it. The entire way back to the Gryffindor common room the quartet held hands.

Not long after they were safely tucked away in their tower Leola tucked herself into bed, thinking of the irony that the spell that saved their lives tonight, was what had precipitated the row in the first place.

Her last waking thought before she drifted off into a nightmare-filled sleep was that there are some things that once you've experienced them together, you simply must be friends.

 **Author's Note: This is short, but I wanted to start writing again, and I couldn't wait. I'm actually going to post this and work on my Doctor Who story for a while. I hope you like it, even though it's really short. The next chapter will be long, and will cover the rest of first year, and possibly highlight summer, as well.**


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